9 years ago
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
The Cupbearer
My life seems to have gotten harder by degree over this two year span of time.
Gradually harder.
Gradually heavier.
A few months ago I read an illustration that describes this very well. A man had a meeting with an important executive. When he walked into the executive's office, the executive handed him an empty coffee cup and said, "Is this heavy?" "No, not at all," the man replied. "Please keep holding it out....Is it heavy now?" "No, not really...Well, heavier than before...OK, getting heavier..." The longer the man held out the cup, the heavier it got. After several minutes, the man's arm was beginning to shake and he was ready to put down the cup. Had the man continued to hold out that small cup, his muscles would have eventually begun to spasm. Had he continued to hold it out too long, he would have required serious medical attention. The executive explained that this is how the stress of life can be. Taken one thing at a time, it is not bad. The longer you hold onto it, though, the heavier it gets.
I have been holding this cup for a long time, and my arm is going numb.
My fear is that at the end of this season of cup-holding, my arm will be dead, and I will just want to amputate. I don't know how many more days I can be stifled, burned.
Hope deferred.
Again.
Every day I pick up this cup and walk around. And it is heavy because it is not my cup. My cup sits on the desk, full of promise, ready to be drained. Some days I lean over and sip from it. Whet my thirst, gain some life. But this cup in my hand remains a heavy burden. And still I carry it.
If I drop it, its contents must go to a cup someone else is holding. But they don't hold their own cups, either. We all hold these mismatched cups.
Sunday we took communion.
As I stood holding my wafer and juice, praying for His life, His blood to once again consume me, I looked at my wafer. On it was an indention - a lamb.
Lord, I need the Lamb. I need His gentleness and peace.
Empty juice cup in hand, a logistical question flitted through my mind - I am on the stage, so at what point do I set down this cup?
This cup . . .
this cup.
This is the cup I want to hold.
This cup full of life-giving drink; this cup that never runs dry. For this cup is easy, and this cup is light. This cup renews and restores. This cup brings hope that does not disappoint.
This is the cup I want to hold, Lord.
This cup only.
Gradually harder.
Gradually heavier.
A few months ago I read an illustration that describes this very well. A man had a meeting with an important executive. When he walked into the executive's office, the executive handed him an empty coffee cup and said, "Is this heavy?" "No, not at all," the man replied. "Please keep holding it out....Is it heavy now?" "No, not really...Well, heavier than before...OK, getting heavier..." The longer the man held out the cup, the heavier it got. After several minutes, the man's arm was beginning to shake and he was ready to put down the cup. Had the man continued to hold out that small cup, his muscles would have eventually begun to spasm. Had he continued to hold it out too long, he would have required serious medical attention. The executive explained that this is how the stress of life can be. Taken one thing at a time, it is not bad. The longer you hold onto it, though, the heavier it gets.
I have been holding this cup for a long time, and my arm is going numb.
My fear is that at the end of this season of cup-holding, my arm will be dead, and I will just want to amputate. I don't know how many more days I can be stifled, burned.
Hope deferred.
Again.
Every day I pick up this cup and walk around. And it is heavy because it is not my cup. My cup sits on the desk, full of promise, ready to be drained. Some days I lean over and sip from it. Whet my thirst, gain some life. But this cup in my hand remains a heavy burden. And still I carry it.
If I drop it, its contents must go to a cup someone else is holding. But they don't hold their own cups, either. We all hold these mismatched cups.
Sunday we took communion.
As I stood holding my wafer and juice, praying for His life, His blood to once again consume me, I looked at my wafer. On it was an indention - a lamb.
Lord, I need the Lamb. I need His gentleness and peace.
Empty juice cup in hand, a logistical question flitted through my mind - I am on the stage, so at what point do I set down this cup?
This cup . . .
this cup.
This is the cup I want to hold.
This cup full of life-giving drink; this cup that never runs dry. For this cup is easy, and this cup is light. This cup renews and restores. This cup brings hope that does not disappoint.
This is the cup I want to hold, Lord.
This cup only.
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